


Warmth in a Rainy Night

by PalavaRakkaus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: -Ish, Bathsharing, Bedsharing, Caretaking, I have never touched the source material, I mean obviously they're in love but they don't even hold hands, M/M, Pre-Slash, Some wristholding happens though, plot? never heard of it, self-indulgent twaddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28831920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PalavaRakkaus/pseuds/PalavaRakkaus
Summary: On a cold, rainy evening, Anders is on the run from the templars swarming Hightown, and he can't afford to refuse Fenris's offer to stay in the elf's mansion.It may be the start of something new.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

Somewhere behind heavy, dark clouds, the sun had already set when Anders stepped out of the Blooming Rose and into pouring rain. He pulled his coat tighter around himself with one hand, the other clutching his staff, and cursed his rotten luck.

The weather had been lovely, if a little cold, when he'd arrived, less than an hour earlier, but while he'd been taking care of the many ills and ailments of the workers of the Rose, it had turned into this blighted mess. He'd barely taken three steps from the door before he was soaked to the bone and trembling with cold, the feathers of his coat flattened by the weight of the water.

Making his way home would not be a pleasant experience.

Anders walked as fast as he could, head bowed to keep the worst of the rain out of his eyes. He hated rain, and he hated being cold, and he could already tell he'd not feel warm anytime soon. Even once he got to the shelter of his clinic, he'd still be cold because that was Darktown for you: cold and damp and always inhospitable.

But at least it would be better than this accursed rain.

He hunched his shoulders and stepped around a puddle, and walked straight into someone.

The man he'd collided with staggered backwards and caught himself on the wall of the nearby building. Anders opened his mouth to apologise for not looking ahead of himself when he noticed the blood.

Almost the entire right side of the man's clothing was soaked with it.

"You're hurt," Anders said, rather unnecessarily.

The man opened his mouth to answer, but instead of uttering a word, he slid down along the wall and onto the wet cobblestones.

Anders was kneeling next to him in a heartbeat, his staff laid down next to him. The man did not look like the sort who belonged in Hightown, and Anders had no doubt he'd been there on some illegal business, but it didn't matter. Anders was a healer, and since the man had not tried to harm _him_ , he was going to do his job.

"All right, just stay where you are. I'll fix this."

The man let out a sound that may have been meant to be a laugh, but it sounded more like a wet cough. "I doubt … this can be helped." He had blood on his lips, mixing with the rainwater and dripping into his shaggy black beard.

"Shut up," Anders said. He pressed a hand over the man's wounded side, the blood there hot in a sharp contrast to the cold of the rain washing over them. He'd used much of his mana at the Rose, but there was still enough left for another healing spell, and magic bloomed around his fingers, bright blue in the dark, reflecting from the puddles around them.

"You're a bloody mage!" the man said, sounding awed, but didn't try to pull away from Anders' touch.

"An astute observation, friend," Anders told him. He moved his hand up, along the deep gash at the man's side. "Now _stay still_."

The man obeyed. Slowly, his shallow breathing grew more normal as the bleeding eased and Anders' magic healed the internal damage. When Anders was sure everything was as well as he could expect, he let his magic fade and lifted his bloodied hand.

"Thank—" the man began to say.

"Done with that then, mage?" a voice behind Anders interrupted.

Anders snatched his staff from the ground, staggered to his feet and whirled around.

Two templars were standing in front of him, water sluicing down their armour and dripping from the swords raised threateningly towards Anders.

 _Shit_.

"Run," Anders said to the man head healed, gesturing along the street, his eyes never leaving the templars.

"But—" the man started to say.

" _Run_."

He could hear how the man scrambled to his feet, and ran.

As Anders had hoped, neither of the templars paid him any attention. They had a mage to focus on, after all; everyone else was unimportant to them.

"So," the taller one of the templars said. "That was very foolish of you."

Anders had to agree, but he was not going to admit that out loud, not to a blighted templar. Instead, he glanced around and tried to decide what to do. The templars were between him and the stairs down, but he would have been too vulnerable there anyway, far too easy to catch. He needed to get away from them and hide until they called off the search, or get to Hawke without the templars noticing and use the cellars that led to Darktown.

"You can come with us peacefully, or we can force you," the other one told him. "It makes no difference to us, but you'll feel better if you're a good boy."

Anders did not answer them. He was absolutely not planning to be a _good boy_ for them, or anyone else, either.

There was a puddle on the street right between him and the two men. _Water. Fire. Right._

Moving as fast as he could, he gathered the remains of his mana and threw a fireball at the templars, and when they staggered away from it, he dropped another into the puddle in front of his feet.

The resulting cloud of mist was even more impressive than he'd expected, and in the ensuing confusion, Anders ran. The yells of the templars followed him, and soon, the templars themselves would too, but at least he had earnt himself a small head start.

Anders was not as familiar with Hightown as he was with the lower parts of the city, but he had gathered plenty of experience on escaping and hiding over the years, and that had to be enough. His boots slipped on the wet stones and his heart thundered in his chest as he ran, through an alley and to another one, along the street and up a few stairs and to another alley.

He would not let them catch him. He would not let them take him to the Gallows. Anders was free and he'd paid enough of his freedom; he would not give it away for anything.

"I think he went that way!" someone yelled, the voice not far from him.

 _Shit_. Anders ran faster, too aware of the clatter of his feet on the cobblestones and the obvious silhouette of his staff marking him as a mage. He turned around the next corner, each gasping breath he took burning in his lungs, the cold rain blurring his vision, and somewhere behind him, yells still followed. There had to be more of them than the two who'd caught him healing the man.

The last thing he needed was the bastards inviting their friends to a mage hunt. He could get away from two templars, no problem, but the more there were, the harder it got.

Anders rushed around another corner, slipped through a narrow alley, and stopped for a moment into the shadows of a doorway. Wheezing for breath, he leant against the door and wiped rainwater from his eyes, trying to listen for sounds of pursuit. No footsteps or clang of heavy armour anywhere near for now, but this was only a momentary respite. He knew templars; they wouldn't give up so easily, and if he didn't keep moving, one step ahead of them, he'd find himself caught soon enough.

Maker, this was not how he had planned his evening to go. He was soaking wet and so cold his teeth kept chattering and he could barely feel his fingers clinging to his staff, and he wanted nothing more than to be at his clinic where it was at least relatively dry and warm compared to this, and where templars did not lurk.

If he had not stopped to heal that man, he would be there by now, but that would have been one life wasted, and neither Anders nor Justice could have allowed that.

Of course now, it was possible his own life was wasted, and from his point of view, that was much worse.

He wondered how long it would take the others to realise he was gone if the templars caught him. Long enough for them to find out he had a habit of running away and couldn't be tamed? Long enough for them to brand him and end it all for him? Long enough—

"Mage?"

Anders almost leapt out of his skin and dropped his staff before he recognised Fenris's voice.

"Don't sneak up on me like that, elf," he hissed as he twirled around, clutching at the staff with both hands. "I thought you were a bloody templar!"

"Hightown is full of them," Fenris said.

He wasn't standing far from Anders, and if Anders hadn't already been freezing, the thought of a templar getting that close to him without him or Justice noticing would have made feel very cold.

"I should have known they were after _you_ ," Fenris continued.

Anders glared at him, and Fenris ignored it. The rain had flattened his white hair to his head, fringe dripping water into his eyes. It looked almost comical.

"Not my blighted fault," Anders muttered.

"I am sure," Fenris said, though his voice suggested he did not believe a word. He pushed the wet hair out of his eyes and gave Anders a thoughtful look. "All right then. Follow me."

"What?"

"Follow me, mage," Fenris repeated, annoyance sharp as knives in every word.

Anders stared at him. Fenris sighed.

"I need to take you to safety. Hawke would never forgive me if I let them have you. _And_ she would make me take part in whatever hare-brained scheme she came up to rescue you. I will save myself much trouble by keeping you out of templar hands."

Anders glared at him some more, but Fenris just turned his back and headed out of the alley. After a moment's hesitation, Anders followed him.

"Where are we going?" he asked as he stepped to the street after the elf, carefully looking around to make sure there were no templars in sight.

"The mansion," Fenris answered over his shoulder. "It is the closest safe place."

Anders wasn't sure how fond he was of that idea, but surely the mansion was better than running from the templars in this rain, so he walked behind Fenris down the rainy street without protests. He'd been running for so long he wasn't sure where he was, and he hoped they weren't far from the elf's home.

Fenris turned from the street to another alley, his posture alert and steps confident, and Anders stopped walking.

He couldn't be sure where Fenris was leading him. The elf could take him straight to a templar ambush—

 _He would not do that_ , Justice interrupted his thoughts. _He is not a friend, but he would not be that cruel_.

The spirit was probably right, and after standing still a moment more, Anders followed Fenris to the alley to find the elf waiting, an annoyed look on his face.

"Do you _wish_ to be caught?" Fenris asked. "Walk, and do not stop to dream."

Anders glared at Fenris and marched past him, through the alley and to the next street at the end of it.

"Anders," Fenris hissed behind him, voice barely audible.

"What—" Anders began to say, but before he could finish the question, Fenris had caught him by the scruff of his coat, yanked him back, shoved him against the wall and clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Shh," the elf hissed at him, and mostly out of surprise, Anders stayed still and quiet, pinned to the wall. "You _do_ wish to be caught, idiot."

Over the sound of the rain, Anders could hear footsteps nearing, and he held his breath and tried to be as small as possible. They were deep in the shadows, and if they were lucky, they would not be seen. Fenris's palm was warm and rough against his lips and the brush of the elf's gauntlet cold, and Anders was acutely aware of easily Fenris held him in place. Justice shifted in his veins, but Anders wasn't sure if it was because the spirit prepared to protect him, or because of the presence of so much lyrium so very close.

The footsteps passed the end of the alley. Two guards, not templars.

Fenris let go of him and took a step back, and Anders was not sure what the strange feeling at the pit of his stomach was when he looked at the elf through the rain.

"Come," Fenris said and turned towards the street.

As Anders followed, he could still feel Fenris's body pressed to his, the elf's hand covering his mouth.

He tried not to think about that too much.

They'd not gotten far before Fenris gestured him to stop, and Anders did, wishing he could hear more than just the heavy thrum of the rain. Fenris peeked around the street corner, and then glanced Anders over his shoulder and gestured him to follow again.

Anders did, through a few more alleys and down a street that started to look a bit more familiar, and then Fenris stopped so abruptly Anders nearly walked into him. The elf turned to look over his shoulder, and moments later, Anders could hear the heavy footsteps over the rain too.

Fenris met Anders' eyes. "Run," the elf told him.

They ran, Fenris ahead, Anders right at his heels.

"Hey!" someone yelled behind them. "Stop!"

Neither of them even slowed down. Fenris caught Anders' wrist and yanked him around the next corner, down the next alley and then around another corner, and Anders was surprised when he realised they'd reached the mansion. Without letting go of Anders' wrist, Fenris opened the heavy door and slipped in, dragging Anders along. Anders pulled the door closed behind them as quietly as he could, only moments before the templars turned around the corner.

Both of them stood still, listening as the running footsteps approached and then passed by without slowing, and when no one banged the door, Fenris's hold of Anders' wrist finally eased.

Anders let out a long sigh of relief. He was safe.


	2. Chapter 2

The mansion wasn't much warmer than the city outside it, but at least it was dry. Anders was still shivering with cold, but he appreciated not being stuck in the pouring rain anymore, and indoors he would, eventually, start to feel a little better.

Not having to run from a bunch of templars was also rather nice.

"Follow me," Fenris ordered.

They climbed upstairs, leaving small puddles in their wake, and Fenris led Anders to the room he'd claimed for himself. It was as cold as the rest of the place, and the broken roof leaked here and there, but Anders wasn't in the position to complain.

Fenris knelt next to the fireplace stacked with wood, the movement infuriatingly graceful, and picked up a tinderbox.

"I could—" Anders started to say.

"Spare your magic," Fenris told him without even glancing at his direction. "I can light a fire without the help of a mage."

Anders gave the elf's back an annoyed look but didn't push. Fenris had to be familiar enough with lighting a fire the awkward non-magic way anyway, though Anders couldn't even imagine doing it like that. It was so _slow_ compared to a nice, neat fire spell that allowed one to start feeling warmer much more quickly.

Fenris must have had plenty of experience with his tinderbox though, and soon, the logs caught on fire. Anders took a step closer without even thinking and rested his staff against the wall so he could reach his hands out towards the wonderful heat. He was so cold he was sure he'd never get completely warm again, but at least the fire could make him feel a little better and help his soaked clothes to dry.

"I don't want to impose," he said, wiggling his fingers to get the blood running through them again, "but I think I may need to stay a while. The bastards will call off the search once they get tired of being wet and cold themselves, but they are stubborn."

Fenris placed the tinderbox away and straightened. "I assumed as much." He looked Anders up and down. "You will never get warm like that."

Anders definitely agreed. His clothes were dripping water onto the floor around his feet.

Fenris kept watching him for a moment longer before giving a decisive nod. "Come with me," he said and gestured towards the door.

Anders did not want to leave the warmth of the fire, but he was Fenris's guest, and had no right to refuse. He followed the elf.

It was becoming a habit.

The mansion came with a luxury Anders hadn't been able to enjoy in ages: a large bathtub. Fenris had allowed Anders to heat the water for it with his magic, and now it was steaming in the cool air. It looked like the most inviting thing Anders had ever seen. He was still cold to the bone, but he could already imagine how good the water would feel, how it would return warmth to every stiff joint and aching muscle.

Unselfconscious, Fenris stripped off his armour and clothes, piled them on a small stool and stepped into the tub. Anders tried not to stare too obviously.

It was not fair how good the elf looked. He had a fantastic body, all lean muscle under that pretty brown skin, and the lyrium was gorgeous, as much of a sign of his difficult past as it was. Fenris had the power to turn heads no matter where he went, and Anders was far from immune to his beauty, despite knowing how much hate was hidden under that attractive surface.

Fenris lowered himself to sit in the tub and let out a pleased-sounding breath that made something stir inside Anders. He watched from the corner of his eye as the elf leant his head back and closed his eyes, and though Anders had meant not to stare, his gaze got stuck on the lines of the elf's slender throat.

"Are you going to stand there, shivering," Fenris asked without opening his eyes, sounding annoyed again, "or are you going to get into the tub?"

Anders didn't know how to answer, so he said nothing. He turned his back towards Fenris, stripped, and piled his wet clothing on top of Fenris's, hoping the elf still had his eyes closed. Fenris's suffering had turned him into a work of art; Anders' had only left him scarred, inside and out, and he was not keen on advertising that, especially to someone like Fenris, who would have no sympathy for him.

He was not going to pretend Fenris had had it any easier. No doubt the elf had been through much more pain and misery than the scattered details Anders had heard about, and it would follow him for the rest of his life, just like the pain of Anders' imprisonment and persecution would follow him, but he was still unbearably pretty despite it all. Anders felt old and used and broken next to the elf, and he did not like it.

As quickly as he could, he stepped into the tub and sat down, knees bent so he wouldn't kick Fenris. The water almost reached his throat like this, and a pleasant shiver ran through him as the warmth of it began to seep into his skin. Maker how good it felt. He could actually believe his teeth would stop chattering if he stayed there long enough.

Anders would have never admitted it out loud, but at that moment, Fenris was his favourite being in the entire Thedas for allowing him this. Having a safe place to stay in for a night was one thing; being offered a bath was entirely another, a show of goodwill Anders would have never expected from Fenris.

With a long, pleased sigh, Anders leant back and closed his eyes. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed the chance to have a proper bath in a tub large enough to submerge himself up to his chin into the water. This was a useless indulgence he did not need, Justice didn't have to tell him that, but now that he had it, he was going to enjoy it as much as he could; it was possible he'd never have this again.

"Mage?"

Anders hummed in response, eyes still closed, and hoped Fenris had not changed his mind about sharing a bath with him.

"I never realised," Fenris said, voice quiet but with an undercurrent of anger in it, "how much you have been abused."

Anders opened his eyes. So Fenris had looked enough to see the scars. _Old and used and broken._

"Those who did it hardly considered it abuse."

"Their responsibility should be to protect—"

Anders interrupted Fenris with a sharp, bitter laugh. "All they protect is their own interests. They have too much power, and it has corrupted them all." He tilted his head back and closed his eyes again. "They hurt because they can. Because there's no one to tell them to stop, and because it makes them feel powerful."

"Mage—"

"You haven't seen the half of it. There's so much _wrong_ going on behind closed doors." He let out a long breath, tried to keep his anger at bay. Staying in a nice, warm bath should have been enough to calm him, but the justified fury was rising inside him. Mages deserved better, and Anders wanted Fenris to understand it. "Most of it leaves no mark anyone else can see, but those of us who live through it will always remember."

Fenris was very quiet after that, but Anders, now that he'd started, couldn't stop.

"I don't think you know how frightening it is. It's supposed to be good for us, to protect us as much as others, but…" He trailed off, tried to gather his thoughts. "You can never understand how _wrong_ it all is. The near-complete inability to make any choices for yourself, the harrowing, the—the constant threat of tranquillity. There's _nothing_ , absolutely _nothing_ , anyone could do to you that would be the same. Losing your freedom is one thing, losing yourself is quite another." The image of Karl's face filled the darkness behind his closed eyelids, and he opened his eyes and met Fenris's gaze. "It's worse than death."

Fenris looked away and stayed silent, and Anders pulled his knees closer to his chest, staring at the ripples of the water.

"If someone stopped it, if someone didn't let the worst things happen…" He allowed his words fade and sighed. He was so tired. Tired after a long day of work, tired of fear and hate and the Circle and templars and Chantry all. "Well. I'd still think it was wrong. We deserve better."

Fenris said nothing for a long while. He didn't meet Anders' eyes as he turned to reach for soap and passed a lump to Anders. As their fingers touched, he murmured, "I am sorry."

It meant more than Anders could have ever imagined. He'd been so used to the elf's hate, so used to Fenris not _understanding_ , and now it seemed there was a small chance that Fenris could see things from his perspective, at least at times.

One broody elf's opinion of him and mages in general shouldn't have mattered much, but it did.

It always had.

Anders shook his head to dispel the thought and focused on washing himself. The soap had some sort of soft, pleasant herbal scent he realised he could recognise; he'd felt it on Fenris, on the rare occasion he'd been close enough.

It would stick to his own skin now. He'd be able to smell it on his hair tomorrow.

He would smell of Fenris.

The thought sent a little thrill down his spine, and Anders swallowed, the fingers holding the soap twitching. _Keep it together_ , he told himself. _Don't get carried away, you blighted fool_.

The last thing he needed was letting Fenris become a distraction.

They washed themselves without talking, the splash of water the only sound in the room. Anders was careful to keep his full attention on himself, not on Fenris and the graceful way the elf's hands moved over his own skin. If he angered Fenris by ogling him, he'd get thrown out into the rain to run from the templars on his own again, and he was not willing to risk that.

By the time he was clean, he'd stolen far too many fleeting glances anyway, but either Fenris had not noticed, or had decided to have mercy on Anders. Carefully, he offered the lump of soap back to Fenris, who took it and turned to place it on the tray he'd taken it from, and his toes brushed over the top of Anders' foot as he shifted.

Anders wondered if it was normal to be so aware of that fleeting touch, to feel it on his skin even when it was gone.

Perhaps it was nothing more than the lyrium. As a mage, he was very aware of it, and Justice longed for it in his own, quiet way. It would have been unlikely the touch of someone covered in lyrium didn't leave his skin tingling.

Unaware of Anders' distracted thoughts, Fenris got up and reached for a towel. Anders took one quick look at the elf's body, water dripping down his back and over the curve of his arse, along his thighs.

"You should get out of the tub," Fenris informed him and began to dry himself.

Anders jerked his gaze away and forced himself to get up, unwilling as he was to leave the blessed warmth of the water. Fenris offered him another towel, and for a barest moment, the elf's eyes lingered on him. They held no trace of the pity Anders had been expecting to see in them. Anders couldn't be sure, but he had a feeling he saw something almost like admiration in their endless green depths.

Perhaps he wasn't quite as old and used and broken as he'd believed, after all, at least not in Fenris's eyes.

The thought made him feel warmer than even the bath had.

Wrapped in a towel, wet clothes in his hands, Anders followed Fenris back to the elf's room where the fire still burnt. He draped his clothes over a chair near the fireplace the best he could in hopes they'd dry a little, and when Fenris spread a rug in front of the fire and nodded towards it, Anders sat down. The warmth was as lovely as the bath had been, and he thrust his feet, cold from walking on the stone floor, towards it.

"Stay there," Fenris ordered and slipped out of the room.

Anders had no plans to move anywhere. The mansion was ridiculously cold and he could only be comfortable where he was, at least as long as his clothes were wet, and he doubted they would be dry before morning. He wasn't going to fool himself into thinking Fenris would let him stay that long, but for now, he was happy to be right where he was.

Fenris returned soon after he'd left, dressed in another dark tunic and leggings, a blanket hung over his arm. He offered that to Anders, and thankful, Anders switched his wet towel to it. The blanket was soft and thick and large enough that when he sat with his knees to his chest, it covered him entirely, and together with the heat of the fire, it was more than enough to keep him warm, even in the draughty room.

"Thank you," he said.

Fenris just nodded and headed towards the door again. "Don't go anywhere," the elf told him, and left the room.

Anders wouldn't have dreamt of leaving.


	3. Chapter 3

Fenris wasn't away for long. Anders had just added a few logs into the fire when the elf returned, carrying a little tray. From where he was sitting, Anders could only see a few cups and bowls on it.

Footsteps silent on the floor, Fenris walked across the room and placed the tray next to Anders on the rug. To his surprise, Anders found the bowls filled with slices of ham, bread, cheese and apple, and the cups with water. Simple things, but they looked absolutely delicious. Anders hadn't realised how hungry he'd been, but now, with food in front of him, his stomach growled, loud enough for Fenris to hear. The elf gave him an amused look.

"Eat, mage."

Hesitantly, Anders picked up a slice of bread. The crust was dry, but inside, it was soft, perhaps baked earlier the same day. "You are very generous towards someone you're supposed to hate," he said.

Fenris reached for a poker and turned to stoke the fire, his back to Anders. "You are very annoying for someone whose life I have saved."

"They would have not killed me," Anders said and took a bite out of his bread. _But they would have abused me, tried to break me, and when that wasn't enough, they would have taken away everything that makes me **me**_ , he did not need to add.

Fenris didn't answer immediately. Anders nibbled at his bread—it was definitely fresh and tasted divine—and watched the play of the firelight on the elf's damp hair.

"Would you consider your existence life," Fenris began, finally, still facing away from Anders, his voice so low it was barely audible over the crackle of the fire, "had they taken and branded you?"

Anders swallowed. "Would you even care if they did that?" Anders asked, and then immediately regretted it. After their earlier talk, that may have been a bit unfair.

"Hawke would," Fenris answered. He put the poker aside, turned away from the fire and sat down, cross-legged, on the rug on the other side of the tray of food.

"But you would not?" Anders insisted.

"Eat, mage," Fenris said, took a piece of cheese, and nudged the tray a little closer to Anders.

It was not an answer, but Anders was almost certain Fenris would have not been happy if he had been made tranquil. Whatever differences they had, however much anger and resentment and perhaps even fear there was between them, after tonight, Anders had a feeling neither of them would like to see the other gone, and not only because it would upset Hawke. Fenris may have not been willing to admit it aloud, but they were not enemies.

They ate in silence, and Anders was more grateful for the food than he could express. He'd had a long day, and he needed something to get his strength back after running and hiding in the cold rain in addition to his usual healing work. He didn't have much coin for food even on the best days, and though madam Lusine had paid him for his help, he'd not planned to use most of that on himself. There were so many other things he needed more for his clinic, for his patients.

He ate more than half of what was in the bowls, but Fenris made no comment, didn't even glance at him as they sat there, and soon, there was nothing more than a lone slice of apple in one of the cups. Anders gave it a longing look. He was not hungry anymore, but he wanted to have it.

That would have been impolite. Fenris was his host who'd been generous enough to share his food with Anders; he had the right to take the last piece there was left, no matter how tempted he might have been.

Fenris reached for the bowl and picked up the apple slice, and a ridiculous wave of envy travelled through Anders.

Without a word, Fenris offered the slice to him, and surprised, Anders accepted it, his heart fluttering oddly in his chest as their fingers touched.

It may have been the best-tasting slice of apple he had ever eaten.

After the cups were emptied, they both sat in silence by the fire. It was comfortable, far more so than Anders could have ever imagined, and it was more than the warmth or the fact that he was, for once, not hungry. Anders rather liked Fenris's company, when the elf wasn't being a hateful prick.

He would have never said it out loud to Fenris, but there was a lot of good in the elf. Fenris was a better man than he let on, and Anders enjoyed seeing the occasional glimpse of that. The elf was capable of kindness and generosity, and though Anders rarely got to enjoy them the way he did now, he knew they were there, lurking underneath the broody façade.

He smiled at the fire. Fenris wouldn't be happy to find out about the occasional flashes of fondness Anders had towards him, but they were there all the same. Especially now, when the elf had chosen to offer him so much tonight. Anders didn't expect miracles, but he had the tiniest hope that one day, Fenris would understand him, and if Fenris, who'd survived abuse in the hands of mages, could understand, then anyone else could too.

Anders glanced at Fenris. The elf was staring at the fire, but seemed to feel Anders' gaze on him and turned to look back. It could have been a trick of the flickering firelight, but he seemed to have the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. Feeling daring, Anders smiled back, and did not get a glare for his trouble.

Silent, he lowered his eyes and allowed himself to bask in warmth of the fire and the tentative new camaraderie between them.

He knew needed to get up and go home soon, but he felt so good sitting there. The scent of Fenris's soap lingered on his skin, and he was warm and the thick rug under him was soft. It was difficult to come up with a proper reason to get up, even though he was no doubt pushing the boundaries of Fenris's limited generosity by staying so long.

He'd move in a moment. Very soon. Right after he'd rested his tired eyes, just a little. A few moments, nothing more. Just a few…

"Mage?"

Anders jerked back to wakefulness, surprised that he'd nodded off. "Sorry," he said, feeling a little groggy and disoriented. "I suppose I should—"

"You can stay the night," Fenris interrupted before he could begin to get up. "I doubt they have stopped looking for you yet."

Anders had a feeling they probably had; he was still only one mage and they hadn't caught him doing any actual harm. By now, the templars must have come to the conclusion he'd gotten away from them, one way or another—or at least, they must have gotten tired of being cold and wet and their precious armours and swords developing spots of rust.

He was not going to refuse the offer though. As long as the rain continued, he had no desire to go out, and sleeping his night on a thick rug next to a warm fire would not be any less comfortable than his own bed, and definitely warmer. The relative safety of Fenris's mansion was not going to hurt either.

"Thank you," he said. "I … hope I can keep the blanket for the night?"

Fenris glared at him, as if asking that was some kind of an insult. Perhaps he should have been satisfied with his still damp clothes and the thick rug under him, but the room _was_ cold, even though the fire was warm.

"I meant in the _bed_ ," the elf snapped. "Stupid mage."

Anders gaped at him, barely able to believe his own ears.

Fenris kept glaring and got up from the rug. "Shut up," he said, though Anders had not uttered a sound. "It is large enough. You will not bother me."

"That last part sounded almost like a threat," Anders said, because focusing on that was easier than acknowledging that he, a mage, had just been _invited to Fenris's bed_.

"It was," Fenris informed him and turned away from the fire.

All right then. Anders was going to sleep his night in Fenris's bed. Next to Fenris.

None of their friends would ever believe it if he told them it had happened, and he could imagine Fenris vehemently denying it if he tried to say anything anyway. He was still having hard time believing it himself.

The bed was large, the covers soft and thick and the mattress comfortable. Fenris even had a fluffy pillow for Anders.

When he'd been running away from the templars in the cold rain, he could have never imagined it would lead to this. He'd thought he'd end up dragged to the Gallows, and instead, he'd been taken care of in a way no one had bothered in a long, long while. It was still difficult to believe.

He'd been remarkably lucky tonight, he acknowledged as he settled to lie down on his back near the edge of the bed, as far away from Fenris's side as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was to impose, because then Fenris would kick him out and he wouldn't get to sleep in a nice, warm bed, next to a nice, warm elf.

Fenris was lying there with his back to Anders, the covers pulled up to his chin, and Anders found himself ridiculously aware of the elf's presence, more so than he'd been even when they'd shared a bath. They were in _bed_ together.

Sex happened in beds.

Anders had no illusions; all he and Fenris would do tonight would be sleeping. But perhaps there had been others in this bed who'd gotten more than the sight of Fenris's back as the elf curled into himself under the covers. They'd felt Fenris's hands on their skin, Fenris's weight on top of them, Fenris's—

He cut off that line of thought before he could go too far. He didn't want to know about the others who'd been here before him, and he had no reason to be jealous. All he wanted from Fenris was a little more tolerance and some compassion. The elf could sleep with whomever he wanted on the nights Anders was not there hiding from templars, and that was none of his business. He'd been incredibly lucky Fenris had allowed him this, and he wasn't going to dream of anything impossible.

"Mage?" Fenris said, startling Anders out of his thoughts. He'd been sure the elf had already fallen asleep.

Anders hummed in response, expecting some sort of a comment about being kicked out of the bed and the mansion both if he dared to snore or steal all the covers, or something similar.

"I do not hate you." Fenris's low voice sounded ridiculously intimate in the dark. The mattress shifted as he rolled onto his back. "I find you difficult to tolerate at times, but I do not wish to see you harmed in any way."

Anders swallowed, throat tight. "Thank you," he said, the words no more than a whisper. "That's—"

"Don't let it go to your head," Fenris told him.

That was going to be a challenge. Though it had not been a real surprise anymore, not after the kindness Fenris had already shown him that night, it was entirely different to hear the elf outright admit it.

"For a broody bastard," Anders said, to distract himself from the emotion swelling in his chest, "you're all right."

Fenris made a tiny, annoyed noise, and Anders smiled to himself.

"Don't let it go to your head."

Fenris gave him a little swat on the shoulder, and Anders couldn't help but to laugh.

"Good night, elf," he said. "And thank you."

"Good night, mage," Fenris responded, genuine warmth in his voice.

Smiling to himself, Anders pulled the covers tighter around himself, closed his eyes and let the sound of Fenris's steady breathing lull him into deep, dreamless sleep.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, Anders woke up to find Fenris's hand wrapped around his wrist under the covers. The grip of his fingers was loose, unlike when he'd pulled Anders after him through Hightown alleys the previous evening, and his palm was warm and rough against Anders' bare skin, the inactive lyrium humming its faint song. Anders wasn't as close to the edge of the bed as he'd been when he'd fallen asleep, and the elf had rolled over to face Anders in his sleep.

It was … nice. Anders did not get touched gently very much, and sometimes his body yearned for it until he almost ached. On hand around his wrist wasn't much, but it was more than what he was used to, and he knew he would cherish this memory.

He reached out with his free hand and covered Fenris's fingers with his own. The elf didn't even twitch.

Outside the window, the rain continued as if it would never end at all, and Anders fell back to sleep with a smile on his face.


End file.
